


Playing With Fire

by hanleiahothwars



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27662464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanleiahothwars/pseuds/hanleiahothwars
Summary: Leia didn’t give it a second thought when their mission to Nalday fell on the Festival of Spirits, but rumors abound that the planet is a magnet of Force sensitivity — and she, Han, and Luke are about to find out this most mystical day of the year puts those powers at their height.A pre-ESB fic told in four chapters, written for the October Han & Leia challenge prompt “Hot & Bothered”.
Relationships: Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

The dead of night deep in the interior of the thick and uninhabited woodlands of Nalday, a remote planet far from the regular hyperspace lanes out on the distant edges of The Slice, wasn’t what anyone would call the picture of cheerfulness and tranquility. What’s more, their mission happened to fall on the planet’s Festival of Spirits, the day when Nalday perfectly aligned with its two moons. It was said that on this night the corporeal realm was pierced, freeing the dead to walk the planet until sunrise the following morning. 

It all should have made for an unsettling, eerie, even foreboding atmosphere. Instead, there was only a ubiquitous sense of triumph and merriment in the small Rebel encampment.

And why not? Their mission had been an unqualified success, more so than Leia had ever imagined going in. Not only were they walking away with the contract the Alliance so desired — truthfully, desperately required — but the province of Sudreara had additionally volunteered themselves as a steady source of fresh provisions for the Rebellion, beginning with an immediate supply that Chewbacca should, by now, have loaded onto the _Falcon_ ready to take back with them.

By themselves, the provisions would have been quite a windfall for the fledgling Echo Base. A regular supply of much-needed fresh foods so that their cell of the Alliance would no longer have to survive on only rations and frozen provisions would bring a vital boost in both health and morale. The bounties of Nalday, a fertile agriworld, were a godsend to the frozen tundra of Hoth and generated an enormous cause for celebration all on their own. More valuable, perhaps, then even the fresh meats, fruits, and vegetables was Sudreara’s vast harvest of premium caf beans, an essential commodity to fuel and energize overworked personnel. General Rieekan often joked that wars were won and lost based on caf supply.

But the real boon, the treasure the Alliance had come in hopes of, was the contract for cut-rate pricing on a recurrent consignment of nolynnium, an element native to Nalday and the central ingredient necessary for the production of synthetic bacta. The manufactured version of the healing substance wasn’t quite as powerful or effective as its natural counterpart, but it would do in a pinch — and the ragtag Rebels were almost always in a pinch.

Tonight, however, was one of the rarer times when there was genuine cause for unmitigated revelry. They would be returning to their new base victorious, and they’d pulled it all off with zero casualties and almost no complications.

Of course in the heat of the moment it had felt like a very close ‘almost’.

While, strictly speaking, Nalday wasn’t under Imperial rule, as with nearly all planets that had anything of value, troopers maintained something of a presence in the larger cities and spaceports. Someone had tipped off those local Imperial agents to the Rebels presence in Sudreara and a subsequent firefight had broken out with a squad of scout troopers. 

Luke — who was only there on Nalday because it was purportedly a hotbed of Force sensitivity, a rumor that had piqued his interest and brought a small segment of the Rogue Squadron along with him on the operation — had injured his leg during a hurried body roll for cover. Thankfully, he’d been able to use his lightsaber to deflect a well-timed blaster bolt or he would have a lot more than just a pulled muscle. 

Beyond that, their team had emerged wholly unscathed, and with the help of the local townsfolk they had been able to escape undetected into the dense forest. Come the morning, they would trek the rest of the way through and out the other side to the Eangory cave system where their ships were hidden. The vast Eangory cavern, a naturally occurring geological feature in the Sudrearian province, had been used by the village’s inhabitants since the fall of the Republic for the purposes of smuggling contraband goods and beings outside of the Empire’s notice. It had offered the perfect safe house for the _Falcon_ and two Alliance X-wings, and now their band of six need only make camp until sunrise, when they could safely continue the hike back to the caves.

Even making camp in an isolated forest wasn’t exactly unpleasant. It was unscheduled, but the need to do so wasn’t outside the realm of possibility so they’d been prepared, carrying basic supplies with them: bedrolls and a troop tent for shelter large enough to comfortably fit them all; when assembled it was tall enough for even Han to stand inside at full height. 

At the moment, he and Leia were sitting side by side in the tent, utilizing the group’s only two inflatable air chairs while Luke lounged across from them on his bed roll, where he could comfortably stretch out his leg. The others were outside, drinking around the campfire. 

Leia had claimed a desire to rest up for the morning as her excuse to avoid what was sure to be a rowdy night. Han had come inside because she had — and he’d managed to snag them a couple bottles of Corellian ale, so as far as he was concerned in the tent was just as good as out there. Luke, on the other hand, just seemed to be nursing a depressed mood.

Han was commenting on the relative luxury of their current digs compared to the ditch he and Leia had to hunker down in on their last mission when Luke’s sullen expression finally got the better of him. “You know, for someone who just helped the Alliance lock down a pretty significant contract, you don’t seem very happy.”

Luke shrugged off the praise. “I didn’t do anything. It was all Leia.”

“Usually is,” Han acknowledged, sending a look her way that did things to Leia that both thrilled and disquieted. “But you _did_ almost take a blaster bolt to the skull,” he pointed out. “I’d say that’s something.”

“That had nothing to do with the contract,” Luke dismissed. “That was just getting away.”

“But you _did_ help,” Leia put in when Luke’s frown persisted. “Before you even set foot on Nalday. The whole galaxy knows what you did at Yavin: how a farmboy from Tatooine destroyed the mighty Empire’s greatest weapon,” she recited Palpatine’s slogan with mocking derision. “You’re a legend, Luke, and an excellent recruitment tool. You had as much to do with Sudreara’s cooperation as I did.”

The princess’s praise usually cheered the kid, but Luke seemed determined to brood. Even so, Han tried another go at it. “Yeah, Luke, you’re a real tool.” 

Leia made a face at him, but the remark got no reaction from Luke.

Han went on anyway. “At least when she says it to you she means it in the nice way. That never happens with me.”

“Do something nice and maybe you’ll deserve it,” Leia retorted smartly.

“I had a little something to do with destroying that Death Star too, if you recall,” Han countered. “That don’t count for nothing?”

“Fine.” She held his gaze with a sweet smile. “Han, you’re a massive tool.”

He narrowed his eyes at her with smirking amusement. 

Glancing over at Luke revealed the aspiring Jedi wasn’t nearly so entertained, and Han inclined his head at the younger man. “Normally this is the part where you’re ganging up and laughing at me. What’s wrong? Something’s buggin’ you. Might as well have out with it now; we know we’re gonna hear it eventually.”

Luke was too frustrated to bother refuting Han’s assertion. “This isn’t the kind of mission I normally take. I’m a pilot, a gunner.” He waved a hand vaguely at the opening of the tent toward the others out around the fire. “We’re a Starfighter squadron. We run recon, seek-and-destroy, escort now and then. We don’t get involved in espionage, undercover ops, procurement, recruitment — any of it. I came to Naldah for one reason,” he confessed on a brooding sigh.

“Her Highness here wants the next words out of your mouth to be the Rebellion,” Han asserted, “but I got a feelin’ that ain’t it.”

“You heard the rumors,” Leia established, a statement not a question. She’d known all along that was the driving factor for Luke’s — and, by association, the other Rogues’ — presence on a mission that really would have only required her and Han, plus Chewie to stay back with the ship. 

Where Luke went Wedge often followed, but how Wes and Derek ever got Carlist to agree to let them tag along was a mystery to Leia. Possibly he just wanted them out of his hair for a few days. Han’s lone caveat had been that they take their own ships. _Two extra passengers are more than enough; if I don’t draw the line somewhere, pretty soon I’ll be carting the whole Alliance around_ , he’d groused. 

While Leia had known that was Luke’s motivation, she assumed he’d understood the chances of getting to the heart of those rumors on their short stay were nearly nonexistent. Not to mention that the rumors themselves seemed outlandish. “Surely you knew the odds of an entire planet being some sort of…Force magnet were slim.”

“But I _don’t_ know that,” Luke lamented. “I don’t know nearly enough about the Force. Not without a teacher. And it’s more than just the stories about Nalday. It’s the Festival of Spirits, too,” he reasoned. “They say the emotions of the night, along with the pierced veil to the other side, put Nalday’s Force sensitivity at its highest. If ever there was a time when it could happen, it’s here and now.”

“What ‘it’?” Han questioned. “What were you expecting to happen?”

“I don’t know. _Something_. But I haven’t experienced anything out of the ordinary,” Luke reported morosely, getting to the heart of his glum mood. “Not yesterday, today, or the day before that. No odd feelings. Definitely no spirits. Not even a vision. Either the stories aren’t true, or I’m not strong enough in the Force. Either way, I feel like I’ve wasted my time. Like so many other parts of my training, I’m spinning my wheels and going nowhere.”

Leia realized with an edge of astonishment, “You weren’t just searching for the basis of these rumors. You were hoping they were true.”

“You wanted to talk to the old man,” Han guessed, his neutral inflection a sharp contrast to hers. “Help further your training.”

Luke looked away from them both but quietly admitted, “That or….my father.”

“Your _father_? Oh, Luke.” There was a new tenor to Leia’s voice now, largely pitying but with a tinge of something that hinted she felt he should have known better. “You’d hoped to talk with _your father_ tonight?”

“Why not?” he defended; it wasn’t nearly as absurd as her tone implied. “He was a Jedi knight. If there’s a time when the dead can travel to our realm –– _and_ on a Force sensitive planet — if there was any truth to that at all there’d be especially high odds that he or Obi Wan could appear to me.”

“I thought you never knew your dad,” Han observed.

Luke’s eyes switched over to him, preparing for a new offensive. “I didn’t,” he granted warily.

“Well, if you didn’t know him, how would you know it _was_ him?” Han presented a valid point.

“I thought — I don’t—” Luke fumbled. “I — I guess I thought he’d tell me.”

“‘Cos it’s always a good idea to go around takin’ the word of a ghost,” Han gibed.

“Spirit,” Luke corrected, insisting, “It’s not the same thing. And I think I thought I’d just _know_. By looking at him. Or I’d feel it, through the Force or through our genetic connection, because he _was_ my father.”

“But, Luke, even if it were possible for someone to appear to you, through the Force or otherwise, how could you ever imagine that would be a _good_ thing?” Leia rebutted.

He opened his mouth to answer in counterargument but she anticipated him. 

“And no, I’m not talking about meeting up with malevolent spirits that you see in horror holos. I mean the nice ones, good ones — even people that you knew, like Obi Wan or your father. Their spirits are lost, Luke. They’re _gone_. What good is there in trying to search them out? What could you possibly find in that, other than heartache?”

“Never mind.” Luke shook his head as he rolled to his feet. “I didn’t expect you to understand.” He cast a disenchanted look Han’s way too, and added, “Either of you” as he exited the tent. 

Left alone with Han, for a while she said nothing. There was only the sound of the nightbugs, the distant crackling of the campfire, and an occasional boisterous guffaw from one of Luke’s squad.

Distracted in her thoughts, Leia was at odds with herself. She felt guilty for upsetting Luke. She had a tendency — one her parents pointed out from childhood — to react overzealously when something struck a nerve with her. Since the Disaster, at times ‘overzealous’ could boarder on volatile. Now that the dust had settled, she worried her response had been too harsh.

Her voice small and remorseful, she finally said, “I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings.”

Han’s gaze searched her face a moment before he answered evenly, “He’ll get over it. Kid’s just upset it ain’t real.”

“I wasn’t trying to make fun of him for hoping,” Leia swore. “I only meant that…” 

She brought her eyes to Han’s, and what she found there — kindness, forbearance, support, and acceptance— led her to continue. “I didn’t, I _don’t_ , understand why Luke would want it to be true. He must not realize; he must not have thought it through. If it were possible to see your lost loved ones for a night, how could you….where would you even begin?” 

She faltered, grappling with the enormity of it. “Where would you start? The goodbyes you never got to say? Last words? All the things you’d _ever_ want to tell them for the rest of your life? There’s too….I _couldn’t_. It’s too much.” 

It was almost an alive thing, a third living entity with them in the tent, the visceral and consuming pain that came from just considering it. Which was why Leia tried so hard _not_ to. Why she strove to compartmentalize and tuck away as much as she possibly could the loss of her family and her world. It was necessary for survival. 

Now that it was out there, though, it was almost irresistible, like a wound you keep picking at. Her expression grew pensive, utterly absorbed in the scenario. “Maybe you wouldn’t talk at all. Maybe words would be of no use. Maybe all you would need is to touch their hand. Or smell their perfume; you know how scent is tied to memory. Or — or feel the softness of their cloak against your cheek just one more time.” That had been a primal, plaintive need so staggering it had almost swallowed her up, vanquished to pure sorrow, in those first days after her father’s death. “But…but that wouldn’t be possible with a spirit, would it?” she recognized with sadness, thwarted even in these imaginary longings.

Leia’s eyes were so wide and wistful, open and vulnerable and _hurting_ — unshed tears shining in the lamplight — that it pricked Han’s heart to the point of physical pain in his chest. He wanted to say something of comfort but knew better than to stop her. She needed to get these things out, needed to face them and feel them in order to ever truly alleviate her sorrow. He stayed quiet, wanting her to go on, but did his best to exude silent encouragement. She didn’t seem to expect a response anyhow; he frankly wondered if she’d forgotten he was there.

“Even if you couldn’t touch them, even if it was just their spirit or soul, it would still _be_ them,” Leia went on yearningly. “And having them back with you? Oh, there would be _so_ much to say. So much to be felt and expressed, in such a limited time. It’s overwhelming to even think about. _How_? How could you limit it to only one night? Just a matter of hours? How could that ever be enough? And then when it was over—” 

She bit her lip to hold in the broken sob that all at once threatened to erupt from her. Once she regained the power of speech, Leia drew in an unsteady breath, shaking her head. “Gods, it would be painful. _Too_ painful. Like losing them all over again. Reminding you of all you’re missing. It would be much too hard. Awful, really.”

She appeared to come back to herself then, actually seeing him before her and not the dream of her lost parents. Han watched her cheeks flush just before she looked away, brushing a kuvara leaf off her pant leg for something to do with her hands. 

“That’s all I meant,” she finished in a subdued rush, embarrassed at having gone on in that way. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Just let Luke believe what he was going to. Whatever made him feel better; whatever it takes to get by. There’s no harm in that, I suppose.”

“No, suppose not,” Han replied. “But I see what you were saying.” Now that she’d gotten her stopped-up feelings out, he was free to offer her solace and empathy. And he would, even if it cost him his comfort to do it. “After my ma died, I used to think about angels.” He tempered it with: “I was just a kid then, five or six, I didn’t know any better. Sometimes at night when I was trying to relax, you know….” He scratched at his jaw self-consciously. “…feel safe, I’d imagine her as an angel watchin’ over me, brushing her hand through my hair to help me sleep like she used to do. Sometimes I’d fall asleep thinking it was real. Then I’d wake up and have to remember again. So I get it; not much good comes out of that kind of thinking.”

Leia stared at him in fascinated consideration. “I don’t know that I’ve ever heard you _really_ talk about your mother before.”

It would have been easy to be blasé, downplay the emotion, but Han forced away the impulse and instead held her gaze, unguarded as she had been. “Like you said, Sweetheart, some things are too hard. Better left alone.”

Tears suddenly loomed again; Leia felt the telltale ache in the back of throat. She bent at the waist, pretended to fiddle with her boot to give herself the chance to, hopefully inconspicuously, swipe at her eyes. 

She couldn’t help it. There was something striking, profound and deeply _needed_ , in making this connection. Experiencing a sense of common grief, knowing this was a shared experience. She was understood; she was not alone in this. 

And that Han had been willing to disclose such a private, sensitive thing to her — she knew _for_ her….

It felt something like relief, something like gratitude, and was nothing short of beauty, carrying with it a tide of intense, boundless affection for him. “I—” Leia began to try to express it, but thought better of it when she realized how it must sound.

“What? Can tell there’s something,” he gently coaxed. 

She shook her head. “No, it’s a _terrible_ thing to say. To even think.”

“Say it. Think it,” Han urged.

“Are you sure?”

“You feel what you feel,” he shrugged. “Nothing terrible about that.”

“All right.” With his reinforcement, she forged ahead, though she still considered it shameful. “I thought that…I was glad you understood. I know that’s wrong, since the only way _for_ you to understand is if you’ve had that loss yourself, and I could never be glad for _that_ , for you to know that pain, but I—”

“It’s okay,” he stopped her, indicating there was no need for any further explanation. “I know what you mean. And it’s not terrible, Leia. Everybody wants to be understood, to feel like somebody else can relate, that they’re not just screaming into the void. That _is_ a nice feeling.”

“Yes, it is,” Leia agreed, smiling softly at him, a look of unmistakable tenderness infusing her expression. She gave a cathartic sigh and her smile grew warm and cheerful — happy with the day’s successes; happy with this surprising, bonding exchange; happy to be here, on a temperate and tranquil night with Han.

“Let’s talk about something else, something lighter,” she suggested. “We’re having a night away, and on a holiday no less. Our mission was successful — we should be celebrating.”

With a smirk, Han nodded in offering toward the open doorway and the men out around the fire. “Antilles is having a Terrifying Tales contest.” He didn’t bother to explain; he knew Leia would have done exhaustive research on the planet and culture before coming. 

Nalday was a highly stalwart planet, a society that valued bravery, fortitude, and valor above all else. Theirs was a culture that looked down upon worry or anxiety of any kind. Over the years, the people of Nalday began to use the Festival of Spirits as an outlet of sorts: one night a year where fear was not only allowed but embraced, even _celebrated_. On the Festival of Spirits, the daytime was reserved for respectful reflection and remembrance, but the nighttime was for fun and frights.

There was a planetwide tradition of gathering around the fire pit in utter darkness and seeing who could conjure up the most terrifying tale, one that succeeded in affecting even the bravest warriors amongst them. At the end of the night, the winner — the author of the most fearsome tale — received a metim-tall chocolate Eangory leaf to honor the tree from which Naldaians believed all life derived and returned. Crafting the confection was something of an artform on the planet, as last year’s winners made and presented this year’s prize. Therefore, the better a person was at making the chocolate Eangory leaf the more it was perceived that they were a longtime champion in their village.

The Rogues had no chocolate, no prize at all, but looking for a chance to get drunk and blow off some steam they’d embraced the custom with a miniature match of their own. Leia had to admit she was interested to see what tales they would come up with.

“We could have a contest of our own in here,” Han proposed. He waggled his eyebrows in mischievous temptation. “Wanna start telling stories? I’ll go first.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get interesting….Force style.

“You actually believe you could scare me? I’m not afraid of anything,” Leia asserted, “least of all a story.” Because she knew he was thinking it, she added, “And no, not Vader. What is there left to be afraid of? What more could he do to me?”

“Alright then.” In an effort to lighten her mood, Han pulled a face of playful alarm at such a bleak response. “Geez, between you and Luke, _I’m_ the one walking away depressed.” 

It must have worked; a small smile caught Leia’s lips, though she tried to hide it. 

“I read you loud and clear, Princess: no scary stories.”

“Now I didn’t say that. We can still tell them.” Leia’s eyes brightened, sparking mischief. “I’ll start,” she volunteered. “With something truly terrifying.” She paused for effect, the cheekiness permeating her whole face as she revealed her punchline. “The _Falcon’s_ last maintenance report.”

“Hilarious,” Han conceded begrudgingly, but genuine enjoyment was easy to read on his face, and he met her baiting comment with open flirtation. “The real fright is how little I’m getting paid to cart your pretty ass here and back.”

As a member of High Command and a woman who didn’t want to get her heart broken, Leia knew she shouldn’t enjoy him tossing out flippant compliments of her anatomy, but gods help her she did. She _liked_ the thought of him finding her attractive — _wanted_ him thinking about her in that light, desiring her the way she did him — and she found herself flirting back.

“Believe it or not, the entire Alliance isn’t so easily charmed by you, out of their credits…or anything else.”

“Credits? ‘M only getting fuel. And I don’t care about ‘the entire Alliance’. I’m interested in hearing what I could charm _you_ out of — easily or the hard way. Personally, I prefer the hard way,” he intoned wickedly, giving her a shamelessly sexy wink.

Its effects weren’t fully realized, however, as Leia was preoccupied with the more interesting piece of information there and ignored his double entendre. “You’re only getting paid in fuel?”

“You know I am,” he scoffed.

“Actually, I didn’t…” she revealed, taken aback. “Carlist was responsible for that end of things.” 

Realizing the significance of what he’d just let slip, Leia’s previous smile expanded into an all-out, self-satisfied grin. “You know what this means, don’t you? You flew all the way to Nalday and you’re only being compensated for the fuel, which you wouldn’t have used in the first place if you hadn’t flown here for the Alliance. So essentially, you’re not getting paid at all. You did it for nothing.”

Han made a show of shrugging ambivalently, but he was irresistibly caught up in her delight. “Wouldn’t say it was for nothing. Someone’s gotta watch out for you and the kid, make sure you stay in one piece to run your little revolution.”

“Seems like it’s your revolution now, too. Even if you _still_ won’t join up,” she harped. Leia didn’t care how many times he heard it; she would never let it go until Han officially accepted a commission. “And since when have you known me to need anyone’s protection?”

Han’s immediate thought was to say ‘plenty’. Leia had a maddening tendency to put the needs of the Rebellion above her safety and consequently often needed protection from her own self. After all, concern for her wellbeing had to be _someone’s_ top priority, since she refused to make it her own. But he wisely didn’t say as much aloud, choosing instead to tease her with a long familiar debate. “The Death Star.”

“Mm-hm.” Smiling, Leia fell happily into their now-established repartee. “Right. A brilliantly planned operation.” She pivoted in her chair, unconscious of the fact that she was willingly inching closer to him; her body seeking his before her brain could catch up and stop it. “And _who_ exactly took charge of that rescue?” 

“Yeah, and you led us straight into a pool of garbage in a dianoga’s dining room.” He shot her an irritatingly appealing half-smirk. “Luke was almost lunch.”

“This again? We made it out unharmed didn’t we? Which is more than you could say if we’d stayed in that hallway getting blasted by a dozen stormtroopers.”

“I would’ve found another way out. Always do.”

“Until you don’t.”

He took a moment, it couldn’t have been more than a second but it was enough to appreciate her: Leia in her quick-witted, challenging glory; the rush of excitement that always came from sparring with her. She would deny it was a mutual feeling, but the signs were unmistakable that she felt it too. The air virtually sizzled with their interplay. 

She was waiting, her lips slightly parted in electrified anticipation of his rejoinder, and he grinned roguishly knowing what it would be, knowing he had her; he’d won this round. “Wouldn’t’ve been that day. Not if you buy into Luke’s mumbo jumbo. The Force decreed he _had_ to survive to make that shot over Yavin.”

Leia firmly believed that was the case — the Force had been with them all that day — but she didn’t take offense at his flippancy, only called it for what it was. “I think you know it’s not ‘mumbo jumbo’. Or you wouldn’t try so hard to brush it off. Whatever you protest the hardest, I know you feel the most.”

Han caught her eye, reached up and fiddled with a stray lock of hair near her temple. “Right back at you, Princess.”

Her heart skipped at that, truth and heat surging through her in exhilarating measure. She caught his wrist and drew it back from the hypnotically sensual way he was twirling the strand of her hair around his forefinger. “Stop that. Stop trying to get me off-course. We were talking about payment for being on this mission.”

“Talk about it then, Worship. Or are you a little too distracted?” 

“My payment,” she pushed past that insinuation, “is to one day see a free galaxy. Luke’s was to seek out the Force. Yours is, apparently, ensuring that Luke and I are safe — and that’s a _curious_ thing not a frightening one, since I could’ve sworn I’ve heard you repeatedly say you’re only in it for the money. You know something?” She leaned in as if to share a secret before asserting in a dulcet whisper, “You’re not a very good mercenary, Captain.”

Han’s eyes glittered with intrigue and she watched his expression melt into elated self-assurance. “I might not be, but…” He looked pointedly down at her fingers, still curled about his wrist, with the resounding message: _Who’s enticing who when_ you’re _the one holding onto me?_

Leia instantly withdrew her hand, but with such a transparently flustered manner that it emboldened him all the more and he further pressed the nearness that she herself had created. 

“…I got other uses.” He crept to the edge of his chair, brushing her knee with his as he promised, “Things I’m _real_ good at. Been trying to show you.”

The way he was looking at her — devilishly seductive, sure of himself, yet thrilled by her response — was impossibly alluring and rather than retreat, with a wry smile, Leia implicitly invited more. “Oh, I know you have.” 

He smirked at that but admitted, “Can’t seem to find the way.”

“I’m not surprised. You won’t often find me in Lieutenant Voss’s bunk.” She hadn’t meant to say that, but it was out there now and she wasn’t backing down.

Han’s brow shot up, not expecting that. The motive behind her accusation wasn’t lost on him, though, and he replied with a shrewd, “Won’t often find me there, either.”

Leia’s initial instinct was to dismiss that as an outright falsehood, but since when did Han lie about his conquests? The male populace on base celebrated him as quite the ladies’ man, a reputation Han did nothing to dissuade. Just look at the incident a few months back with Kasari Talon. No, if Han was having repeated trysts with Lieutenant Voss he’d own up to it. 

So maybe it wasn’t an ongoing affair, only a one-night stand, but the principal was still the same. There would be no talking his way out of this one. “Perhaps not often, but once is more than enough.”

“I never slept with Amaya Voss. If that’s what you’re getting at.” He knew it was. Leia had been on a fishing expedition, at the very least wanted him to know _she_ knew.”

“I’m not ‘getting at’ anything,” she bristled. “Whether or not you’ve been with her isn’t my business.”

If thinking he was keeping company with other women was the thing holding her back Han would dispel her of that notion in no uncertain terms. “I didn’t sleep with her. Not even once. Not even close. Hasn’t been anything between us at all.”

“I—” Leia floundered. Truthfully, she was taken aback by his answer: both the veracity of it, which she somehow unmistakably felt, and that he would offer it up so freely rather than trying to brag about his prowess. 

Flustered — by how far off she’d been, by how the allegation itself must make her look, and by the flood of relief she felt upon hearing him reveal it never happened — Leia automatically reverted to aloof propriety. “Well, I wasn’t asking.”

Han laughed at her denial, his expression bluntly disbelieving. “Kinda were. Implying, anyway.”

That rankled, because yes, she had brought it up purposefully, but it hadn’t come out of nowhere; it was in direct counterpoint to Han bemoaning his failed advances toward her. “I was only explaining that such behavior is no way to make _me_ want to — Not that there _is_ a way where I would want—” Leia cut off, aware she was only making it worse, and finished with a sigh, “What I’m saying is, do what you want; it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Is _that_ what you were sayin’?” His tone dripped skepticism and she knew what was coming even before he flashed a cocky grin. “Sounded a little different to me. Sounded an awful lot like jealousy.”

When Leia began to protest, as he’d known she would, Han barreled on with, “Thought you knew better than that.” Softening his voice, he gently chided, “Thinking I was sleeping with Amaya…” 

“The rumors all—” 

He reached out and played with that strand of her hair again as it had seemed to affect her the last time, and when he spoke his tone dipped further, down to the low honeyed baritone that always got a rise out of her. “Thought you knew by now my interests lie elsewhere.”

“Do they?” Leia queried tremulously. She let her upper body slant close to his. Han’s eyes flared with surprise, then hope and delight — a moment before she batted his hand away with a self-satisfied smirk of her own at so easily baiting _him_ this time. “That explains those other rumors. The ones about you being raised by Wookiees and consequently experiencing a certain…attraction to them.”

“Do people really say I fuck Wookiees?” He blurted it so suddenly Leia thought she’d offended him, until he started laughing. “Gotta tell that to Malla next time I see her. She’d have a few words for you on what female Wookiees think of human males. I’ll give you a hint: it ain’t even slightly erotic. Chewie’s dad’d be blunter: he thinks I look like a bald Wook pup several months premature.”

“Technically, the rumors never said Wookiees shared the attraction,” she teased, “only that _you_ felt that way.”

“Well, I do have a penchant for metims of long dark hair.” 

Something in the way he said it — coaxing, transparently an effort at enticement, yet almost guarded too, like it left him vulnerable to admit — brought Leia’s eyes to his. The way he looked back made her heart race, made excitement warm her blood as a little thrill zipped through her. Feeling her cheeks heat, she was the first to look away. 

Han didn’t miss Leia’s flushed face, however, and sidled closer. “All the better if she wears it up in braids coiled around her head.” He fiddled with one at the nape of her neck, ever at her hair tonight; finally just plainly stating what he was after. “Braids that maybe one day she’ll let me _un_ coil.”

She should just get up and walk out; if she was sane that’s what she’d do, Leia knew it. But the pull was there again, that attraction to Han that beckoned her — _awakened_ her, spirit and body — from so early on in their acquaintance she couldn’t begin to pinpoint where and when it had started. More than just that, she genuinely liked Han and enjoyed being around him, making it doubly hard to resist that draw to him. 

All right, yes, in this particular moment it was desire that had the most salient pull. But, really, she wasn’t to blame. Han Solo by setla lamplight — honestly, any light — was a devastating sight. Any being with a pulse didn’t stand half a chance against that. So although she was playing with fire, gods help her but she liked it too much to stop. 

“That’s a very specific proclivity,” Leia commented coyly. She met his eye, held it as she tip-toed further into exploring this tantalizing thing between them. “One you’re not likely to find in the middle of a forest.

Han raised his brow expressively, inclining his head towards hers. “You’d be surprised,” he slyly asserted. “Night’s not over yet. Might even find it right here in this tent.”

Leia exhaled a quickened breath, and he was now so near it fluttered the scruffy hair falling over his temple. For that alone all her alarms should be blaring; her carefully constructed walls should be slamming into place. Instead, all she could think was that it ought to be criminal to look as good as Han Solo did. 

The way the shadows played off his cheekbones. All that tanned skin; Nalday was a warm planet so he had plenty of it on display: his shirt unfastened more than halfway, his sleeves rolled up. And they’d been camping, roughing it, which left an irresistible shade of dark stubble across his jawline. That delectable, crooked smirk of his particularly prominent: white teeth flashing and catching the light, lower lip shining too, full and inviting. 

Even the way his long, capable fingers curled around the beer bottle was breathtakingly erotic to her. _Everything_ made her want him tonight…The dark golden hairs on his toned forearms drew her eye up to appealingly muscular biceps and back across to his half-bare chest that made a striking showing whenever he stretched his arms and his shirt pulled further open. There was nothing she wanted more in the galaxy, heaven help her, than to run her fingers across it, her mouth down it. 

Gods, but he was a perfect piece of artwork sitting there beside her, like one of the chiseled Alderaanian alabaster statues in the museums back home. Only Han was real, not nude but cold marble; a man in flesh and blood. He was alive, _so alive_ , and warm and open, smiling charismatically at her. Tempting, encouraging, making it clear she could have him right now if she wanted to — and, kest, but she did.

_Why couldn’t it be all right?_ Leia reasoned, bargained with herself. Han wasn’t nearly the risk he once had been. Despite his lack of official commitment, it seemed increasingly unlikely that he would actually leave. He’d followed them to the nearly unlivable landscapes of Hoth, after all, and if there was ever a time to bail that would have been it. He flew her on nearly all of her missions, had just admitted to coming on this one for free. He was voluntarily on the regular roster for perimeter patrols of Echo Base, something wholly unconnected with smuggling or piloting. Why, Han was practically respectable now.

If he was all that _and_ he wasn’t leaving, then why wouldn’t it be all right to finally know the taste of his mouth on hers? She’d been kissed before. Could there truly be any harm in that? Just a kiss? 

“What if you did, find it? What would you do?” Leia pressed.

Han knew an invitation when he heard one and set the bottle down in a heartbeat. Placing his hand atop hers where it rested against her thigh, he whispered, “Only one way to find out.”

Leia looked down at his hand on hers — his skin appeared all the more bronzed against her paler, far smaller hand and even that contrast stirred her — then to his eyes. His fell to her lips and her breath seemed to stagger to a stop even as her heart raced. 

It was only the smallest of seconds before Han caught himself and looked back up into her eyes, feeling her out, measuring where _she_ was at. That small gesture — banking his fire to see to hers, to give her a chance to catch up or to object — the show of tender care it betrayed kindled something in Leia, and she tentatively moved her other hand over his.

Her eyes slid down to watch the path of her fingers as she stroked his tanned skin in a sensual massage so loaded with intent it couldn’t be mistaken as anything other than a caress. She heatedly traced over tendons and bones, marveling again at the length of his fingers — their work-roughness, the raw masculinity of hands that moved with such grace — wondering how they would feel on her body in all the most intimate of ways. 

_Her_ gaze shifted to his lips this time and Han brought his free hand up to cup her neck, murmuring her name. When she allowed that near-embrace, he slid his hand higher and forward. His eyes searing, steady and intense on hers, he ran his thumb in a circle of her mouth, exhaling a shuttered sigh as the pad of his finger grazed over the silken softness of her lips. 

Leia’s eyes fell closed and she leaned into his touch, tilted her face up toward his. That was all the more signal Han needed; he bent low to bring his mouth to hers. 

And she was going to let him, _finally_ going to let him. More than just let herself _be_ kissed, Leia was eager to be an active participant in the kissing. 

Were it not for what happened in the subsequent split second. 

One moment she and Han were leaning into each other in a tent in the forests of Sudreara. The next and they were in the _Falcon’s_ main hold. It was as if Leia was both watching and living it: lying flat against the bench on the backless side of the acceleration couch, wearing nothing but one of Han’s shirts and even that was completely undone, her breasts exposed, her nipples taut stimulated peaks still damp from Han’s tongue.

Han was on his knees on the deckplates, the bare skin of his back and shoulders a stimulating, sensual warmth against the backs of her legs. He nibbled his way across her inner thigh and she moaned her pleasure, fingers rifling through his hair in wild encouragement as his lips trailed ever closer to the throbbing, wet core of her.

When Han did move his mouth between her legs — with first the steady, pulsating press of a broad lick followed immediately by the warm, suctioning pull of a suckling kiss to her clit — pure and absolute pleasure jolted Leia back into the present. 

Back to Sudreara, where Actual Han was a whisper away from actually kissing her. 

Leia’s mind reeled, struggling to process the change. 

The vision had been so tangible it was dizzying, shocking in its overwhelming intensity, so palpable the sensations had been corporal. Which made no sense at all, as they weren’t on the _Falcon_ ; she was still in her chair and Han was in his, with no apparent awareness of what she’d just experienced. What’s more, no one had ever yet kissed her _there_ , so it was impossible for her to have specific knowledge of that feeling — in this tent, on the _Falcon_ , or anywhere else — yet, she’d felt it.

This explicit fantasy — prediction, hallucination, _whatever_ it had been — left her unbalanced and thoroughly unnerved. Her body and emotions in a frenzy, an alarmed Leia sprang back and leapt to her feet, blurting, “I have to go.”

Han stared at her, flummoxed. If Leia ever did let herself go with him, he expected a certain degree of anxiety; she was so afraid to feel anything that giving over to passion would surely be jarring for her. But even knowing her hang-ups well, this was beyond what he’d anticipated. Her face was awash in utter panic. She looked as if she’d just seen Vader himself.

Even in her deeply shaken state, Leia was aware how incongruous her behavior must seem. She’d shot away from him so quickly, her outburst so sudden and extreme that it served only to draw further attention to her when she wished to be as inconspicuous as possible, invisible preferably. Anything so that Han wouldn’t notice her heavy breath, her flushed cheeks, the fact that she’d just graphically imagined him intimately pleasuring her — and that even now her inner muscles clenched in ecstasy at the remembered sensation. _Goddess_. 

In an effort at damage control, she struggled to belatedly temper her behavior, make it seem more nonchalant. “I mean, it’s late,” she tried for light and breezy. “We should go to bed.” 

The suggestion of _that_ brought the vision instantly back to her — the two of them half naked, his mouth on her body — and Leia’s eyes widened in a fresh wave of disconcertment. 

“ ** _I_**. I should go to bed.” She caught a glimpse of the bedrolls laid out around them and realized her mistake. “But then our bed is right here, isn’t it? **_My_** bed. I should go _get ready_ for my bed.” She was only making it worse, she knew, and gave up, reverting back to her original proclamation. “I should go.”

Han studied her a moment more before rising from his chair. The restored height difference put the wide expanse of his appealing chest at eye level, which didn’t help her any, and when he skeptically replied, “Okay. Righhht”, it put her sense of self-consciousness at its height. 

“What does that mean? It _is_ late,” Leia argued defensively, but when she glanced down at her chrono the lie was revealed straightaway. “Lat _er_ ,” she amended. 

“It’s…later.” He nodded in pretend agreement. “Later than the morning, say.”

“I only meant that we should get some sleep.” For herself more than him, she added, “Separately.” 

_“I_ wasn’t thinking anything else,” Han retorted.

Discomfited that he seemed to have read her mind, Leia made to bolt from the tent. “I have to go.”

“Leia.” Han stepped into her path. 

It was an insufficient impediment, they both knew. She could have moved around him or pushed him away. There was nothing truly stopping her from leaving. But she would never want to be perceived as yielding or conceding defeat, and he called her bluff. 

“I thought you weren’t afraid of anything.”

Leia’s chin went up contentiously. “I’m not afraid,” she denied. “What do you think I’m afraid of? You?”

“Not me. Us.” Han gestured between them, closing the distance another step as he boldly called out the explosive tension, the mutual hunger and yearning so thick in the air whenever they were together that it qualified as a third entity in the room. “ _This_.” 

It had long been their unspoken rule to never acknowledge that tension aloud. Han was breaking that pact and it left Leia feeling flustered and unsettled, which annoyed her. He didn’t have the right to change the rules, to alter the way they played this game just because _he_ decided so. “I don't know what you're talking about,” she demurred.

“Yes you do,” Han challenged decisively, not backing down. “That’s what’s got your eyes as wide as a convor’s.” 

Leia’s forehead wrinkled in riled consternation to go with those widened eyes she was about to dispute. “They are not. You have no effect on me at all, Han Solo.”

“‘S that right?” He stepped further into her space until she had to tilt her neck back to maintain defiant eye contact. “Then why are you shivering?” He moved nearer still, their chests just a breath away from touching. “I’ve been around enough to know when a woman wants me, Sweetheart, and you’re affected alright. You’re _so_ affected it’s got you runnin’ scared.”

“I’m not running, or scared.” The denial fell from her lips instinctively, before she had time to formulate a plausible alternative explanation. “It’s just late and…I’m cold.”

“ _Cold_?” Han spread his arms, indicating his open shirt. “We live on a kriffin’ ice ball. This place has the heat of the seven hells compared to Hoth. Come on, you can do better than that. You’re _scared_. Scared of what might happen if you stay here with me.”

Leia’s heart beat a frantic rhythm. “I’m _not_ afraid,” she repeated with breathless fear.

“No?” His eyes tracked over her face, mapping out those features he adored, and when he spoke again his voice was tender and low. “Then stay and see what happens. Stay and _let_ it happen. Stay and let me kiss you.” 

Han’s tone was close to entreaty and her heart begged to answer it….but she just _couldn’t_. She’d been wrong before, lying to herself. It wouldn’t be just a kiss; she knew it would be so much more, physically and emotionally. 

Leia looked up at him, her eyes wild pools of desire mingled with terror. Han read the truth in them without her needing to say it. “You’re afraid you’re gonna like it. You’re afraid because you want it, too.”

That allegation hit home in a way that sent Leia into a tailspin. _Oh gods, does he know what I saw, what I_ felt — _or was thinking, or_ whatever _that was?_ Was she that transparent in her desire for him? 

If so, it was equal parts mortifying and worryingly dangerous. If Han were to ever find out even half the very real effect he did have on her…. 

She had to defuse the situation at once; her flight response had been triggered. She had to get the hell out of there. Everything in her demanded it. 

“There’s certainly no problem with your ego, Captain,” she told him in perfect Coruscanti inflection and far more composure than she felt as she sidestepped around him. “Let me make this clear: I do not ‘want’ you. I wouldn’t let Wes kiss me either, and we can both agree I don’t want him. How you can imagine that _not_ letting you kiss me means I want you is beyond me. I think you’re confusing desire with disdain.”

_Disdain_. The caustic rebuke hurt Han to a shamefully devastating degree. 

Running was Leia’s defense mechanism; turning hurt to anger was Han’s, and his eyes flashed now, the warmth draining from them instantly. 

“Well, don’t worry, Your Highnessness,” he said coldly, giving a little mock bow. “You don’t gotta deal with your ‘disdain’ any longer. I’ll remove myself from your royal presence.”

“You needn’t bother. _I’m_ going,” Leia hissed as she turned on her heel and fled the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all who celebrate. Please do so safely. 
> 
> Look for the conclusion to this story sometime around the new year.


	3. Chapter 3

Hurrying from the tent, Leia diverted away from the crowded campfire. She was _not_ ready to deal with the Rogues right now. They’d made camp for the night in the first small clearing they could find and, quickly scanning the site, she determined her only hope of a private escape was into the dense woods beyond. It probably wasn’t her best and certainly not her safest idea, but at the moment she didn’t care.

Halfway to the edge of escape, she looked over her shoulder to make sure Han wasn’t following her — the last thing she needed was to find herself alone in a secluded moonlit forest with him — and ran, quite literally, into Luke. 

She’d been so focused on getting away from the older man that she hadn’t even seen the younger before she crashed bodily into him. Luke, however, had seen her coming and was more prepared; his hands automatically went to Leia’s upper arms to steady her. 

“What’s going on?” he asked once he was satisfied she’d regained her balance. Ducking his head, he tried to catch a better glimpse of her downturned face, but Leia wasn’t having it. With a hint of amusement and a heap of weary-but-tolerant resignation, Luke added, “What are you guys fighting about now?”

“What makes you think we’re fighting?” she evasively replied.

It was a kneejerk response, he knew, her words flowing on autopilot rather than any kind of thought-out denial, but it still seemed absurd to Luke. “Well, for starters, I saw you come tearing out of the tent, so whatever upset you must have happened in there. And then there’s the fact that, with you and Han, it seems to always be—” 

The mention of Han’s name finally prompted Leia to look up, and the utter alarm bordering on hysteria Luke saw in her eyes gave him pause. 

He moved his hand down her arm soothingly and was about to genuinely ask what was wrong when his palm brushed over the bare skin of her wrist and he stopped short as it struck him.

As sudden and violent as a bolt of lightning in a dust storm over the Dune Sea; focused, intense, and unexpected enough to take his breath away. 

Anxiety, fear, and dismay — along with an unmistakable edge of shame — that Leia was powerfully telegraphing. So much that Luke not only sensed it but could actually _feel_ the emotions himself. His adrenaline whipped into an instant frenzy: his heartrate sped, his palms began to sweat, and he was overtaken by an immediate need to _run_. 

Gasping, Luke snatched his hand back away from her. 

Physically severing the tie must have worked. Or it was his own startled apprehension at such a strange out-of-body sensation. Either way, in the next moment he was back in himself again, alone with his own emotions. 

Leia stared at him, clueless as to what Luke had just experienced. In ordinary circumstances, she might have questioned it further. Distracted by her own concerns, she took his odd behavior to be a sign of lingering irritation with her. 

Sidetracked though she may be, Leia was too well-bred to be rude without cause and postponed her retreat into the woods long enough to apologize. 

“Luke, about before,” she began with gentle humility, for she honestly hadn’t intended to hurt his feelings and always hated being at odds with him. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear.” 

Luke was only partially listening, caught up in his own thoughts. Reckoning that perhaps he had been too quick to dismiss the Force powers of this planet and their heightened sensitivity on the Festival of Spirits. 

When he refocused himself, Leia was still talking; mid-thought, he gathered, but it was easy enough to understand.

“—and it’s only that, _for me_ , communing with the dead for one night would do more harm than good. But I wasn’t making fun of you. Truly.” 

She awaited his response with such sincere concern it made Luke remorseful for his earlier overreaction. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re entitled to your opinion. _I_ shouldn’t have taken it personally.” 

Even so, Luke didn’t feel guilty enough that he’d let the current, intriguing situation slide. He was desperately eager for _any_ further knowledge of the Force, and here a goldmine had just fallen into his lap. While he knew it was likely unwise to tell Leia he’d just experienced her emotions — he suspected that was too much like Vader invading someone’s mind for her to take it well — whatever happened between her and Han had likely fueled the unexpected Force link. 

Leia had fled into the night rather than stay and face Han. Her panic, laced with a lingering trace of exhilarated excitement, still loudly transmitted from her. If he reached out with the Force, Luke could continue to feel it even without touching her, though he was certain Leia was unaware and not intending to be projecting such emotions. As her friend, he wanted to help with whatever had upset her; as an aspiring Jedi, he _needed_ to know more. 

“But I also know what you’re doing,” Luke broached carefully.

She regarded him with a speculative arch of her dark brow. “And what’s that?”

When dealing with Leia and emotions one always had to tread lightly, even him, though he was one of the few in her confidence. All the same, her subconscious had cried out to his in distress. Luke figured that made it his business, and he wasn’t backing down. “You’re changing the subject.” 

She didn’t deny it, rather feigned confusion. “Of?”

“You know what of: you and Han, and what you were fighting about.”

“We’re not fighting,” Leia did refute now, in an overly airy tone meant to project nonchalance and disinterest in the subject. 

Her tactic had no doubt worked effortlessly a great many times in the Senate, but Luke knew her too well and gave her a look that said so.

“We hardly fight anymore,” she stuck to her guns.

“Because you’re flirting instead,” he countered with a knowing smile. Excitement blended with panic and shame. Emotions running high that left one — what had Ben called it? — _susceptible_ to being felt out through the Force. The friend in him, who’d known both Leia and Han for years now, could already guess at what happened in that tent.

“That’s ridiculous.” Leia was determined to repudiate any such thing. It was bad enough _she_ knew the truth of what she’d just fantasized, brought on by their almost-kiss; no one else was going to find out. “Han and I do not flirt.” 

Luke shot her a dubious look. “That wasn’t flirting five days again in the Mess when the two of you were vibing so hard I had to endure a shift’s worth of Wes’s complaints about not having a girl of his own?” 

He spared her Janson’s more colorful comments — _I need it so bad that Wedge’s tauntaun, the one with the long lashes, is starting to look good! And now Solo and the princess got to horn it up in front of me, too?_ — but that didn’t prevent Leia from knowing the exact time he meant; it had affected her as well, and featured heavily in that night’s heated dreams. 

Still, she maintained, “That wasn’t flirting. I told you, we _don’t_ flirt. We…” She paused, searching out a more benign term and settling on: “…discuss.”

“Banter,” Luke corrected.

“Debate,” she again insisted on the safer word.

“Tease.”

Leia continued to reject his descriptors but was now fighting a smile. “Sometimes bicker,” she allowed.

“Bait each other is more like it.”

“Occasionally taunt. Maybe.”

“What you mean is tempt. Or in other words: flirt,” he pronounced with a hint of Han’s gloating at successfully proving his point. “You two need an outlet for the tension. If it’s not flirting, it’s fighting. And you claim you weren’t fighting, _so_ ….” Mischievous triumph was in Luke’s eyes as he pinned hers, knowing by her own logic he had her. “What exactly happened in that tent that sent you running?”

“ _Nothing_.” Leia was quick to pooh-pooh it, and it wasn’t even entirely a lie. It hadn’t been what happened _in_ the tent that had shocked and alarmed her; it was those tangible images of the two of them together on the _Falcon_. 

But that wasn’t real. None of it was real. She _swore_ she had felt—

No! It _wasn’t real_. It couldn’t have been; simple logic told her that. “Nothing happened.”

“Something did. When you ran into me you were spooked. Panicked, afraid,” he spelled it out more bluntly so she couldn’t wiggle her way out of it. “Leia, I could _sense_ the fear on you.”

An immediate shot of nervous dread coursed through Leia. Did he mean something in her body language had given it away, or could he actually sense it through the Force? But he had said ‘fear’ and not any of the other emotions she’d experienced. That fact comforted her. Regardless, she had no intentions of admitting to any of it. 

“I’m not afraid of ghosts, Luke,” she dismissed with a forced laugh, trying to get him focused back on the Festival of Spirits.

Just then, movement caught Luke’s eye: Han exiting the tent, in a slow and relaxed stride that couldn’t have been more different from Leia’s. Nevertheless, he looked visibly upset to Luke’s shrewd eyes, though the hardened spacer tried to hide it. 

Luke turned his attention back to Leia, more sure now than ever that something had happened between them in that tent and it caused her to lash out at Han.

“No, ghosts aren’t what you’re afraid of,” he agreed. “Some things are more frightening then ghosts.” Reaching out with his feelings, he knew that to be true, but there was a deeper truth as well. “Although…it _is_ the ghosts that scare you. In a way.”

He looked at her studyingly. Leia had the impression he was reading her like a book, flipping through pages she didn’t want seen, ones she’d tried to keep stuck together but Luke’s insight into her easily wrested apart.

“The Festival of Spirits doesn’t bother you, but not every spirit is a walking apparition. The souls you’ve loved and lost leave you afraid to lose again. _That’s_ your fear,” he perceived. “And it’s that type of ghost that can really haunt you.”

Maybe it was because he had read her so astutely. Or maybe it was that she knew Luke understood those ghosts too; having lost his aunt and uncle, his mentor, and his best friend, he was now nearly as alone in the galaxy as she was. Maybe it was just that there was no real risk in admitting such a universal truth: grief haunted you far more than any make-believe specter ever could. 

“You’re right about that,” Leia granted with a kind of quiet anguish that broke Luke’s heart. “There are no imaginary childhood stories of demons and spirits that can live up to what we’ve been through.”

“That’s true,” Luke acknowledged. “But the thing is, Leia, even that kind of spirit is just an illusion. They can’t touch you in the here and now. Those ghosts only have the power _you_ give them; that your _fear_ gives them. It’s the fear that really hurts you and holds you back.”

Her defenses quickly went up at Luke’s suggestion. The very idea that she was being ‘held back’! 

And she was in some way allowing it? _Choosing_ it? 

Choosing the — she struggled to identify the particular feeling and could only come up with — _safety_ of fear, rather than taking the risk of letting that fear go and freely living again. 

Leia was unsure if that last, apt analysis had been Luke’s intention or if it came from her own internal perception, but the diagnosis fit too well for comfort and sent her further into self-protective denial. “I am _not_ hurt.”

Luke glanced over to Han brooding by the fire and it was on the tip of his tongue to say, ‘Well, _someone_ is’, but he knew they _both_ were, whether Leia would admit it or not, so he held back.

“I’m not _afraid_ , either,” she declared with combative resilience.

“Of course not,” he nodded. “My mistake.” 

Leia knew better than to declare the argument won here, and a moment later Luke proved her correct. 

“Then you wouldn’t mind going and saying goodnight to Han for me?” he requested, theatrically rubbing at his only faintly aching injury. “My leg’s a bit sore.”

_Nice try, Skywalker_ , Leia thought. Had he forgotten she was once a master of intrigue and political manipulations? Having been a teenage galactic senator and secret spy for an underground organization striving to free said galaxy still came in handy in her personal life. She could smell this manipulation a metim away. Not that it was ever very difficult with Luke; she’d never known such an artless being.

“How odd. You seemed to be walking fine up until now. Should I grab a medkit?” Leia made as if to go fetch one and Luke hastened to stop her. 

“No, no. I’ll be alright.” Some of the casual self-assurance had been erased from his face at her attempt to call his bluff, but he wasn’t giving up yet. “Just go tell Han I said thanks for the assist earlier and I hope he sleeps well.”

“I didn’t know you and Han were in the habit of wishing one another sweet dreams.”

“Mockery is another form of deflection, you know,” Luke pointed out.

“I’m not mocking,” Leia said, shaking her head. “It was only surprising. That, and I’m confused as to why you can’t tell him yourself, eventually, since we’ll all be _sleeping in the same tent_.” Her tone made it abundantly clear she knew what he was up to.

“Mockery, deflection, and evasion: that all sounds like fear to me.” 

This thing between Leia and Han was getting out of hand. The betting alone was enough to make Janson a full-time bookie. It was about time someone stepped in — and it seemed inevitable that it would have to be either him or Chewbacca. 

“Why won’t you go over there, Leia?” he pressed on. “It’s not far. What harm is there? _If_ you’re not afraid.”

“Luke.” She _tsked_ her tongue pityingly, as if _he_ was the one with in crisis. “I think some of that Tatooine sand is still loose somewhere in that head of yours. There _is_ no secret reason, and nothing to be afraid of — here or over there. But it’s getting late, and I’m cold,” she doubled-down on her earlier lie to Han, as ludicrous as it now sounded to her on this balmy evening. “And I’ve already spoken to Han tonight.”

“Yes, and bolted out of the tent as if your very life depended on it.”

Leia gave a sigh, beginning to get frustrated with this conversation. Verbal one-upmanship was one thing; there was a sport to that and she was always up for a fine debate. This, however, was frustratingly focused. He was trying to pin her down and she didn’t like it, all the more so because she had no effective argument against his position other than continued denial, which Luke didn’t seem to be buying.

“Look, I don’t know what you think you’re trying to get me to admit, but there’s _nothing_ deeper to it. We talked, it was late, and so I left. What could I possibly have to fear in talking to Han? Do you think I’m terrified of conversation?”

Again, it came to Luke swiftly. “Talking wasn’t what sent you running.” 

This time, it wasn’t an emotional feeling but a diffusion of indisputable, bone-deep knowledge as certain and sure as needing air to breathe. 

“You were scared of what was coming next. What you _wanted_ to come next,” Luke astutely revealed.

_What you wanted to come next…_

_What you_ wanted _to come next…_

_What_ YOU _wanted_ ….

His unnervingly correct accusation echoed through Leia’s mind — and with it came a fresh flash: she was suddenly back on the acceleration couch with Han, keening softly as he kissed his way up her ribcage, his hand at her breast thumbing her nipple, keeping her primed even as her hips continued to quake in the aftershocks of orgasm.

The panic Leia felt was fresh too as, standing there in the forest clearing with Luke, she experienced the same throbbing pleasure between her thighs as the _Falcon_ Leia did. 

**_THAT’S ENOUGH!_ **

She may or may not have screamed it aloud. She wasn’t sure anymore of where fantasy and reality ended tonight. In any case, fight or flight had kicked in again, and she was through with any further discussion. 

“This is a silly conversation, and it’s finished,” she said in a voice that brooked no arguments. But to show there were no hard feelings between them, she softened her tone, reaching up to affectionately pat his arm. “Goodnight, Luke.”

“Alright, Leia, I’ll drop it.” 

She gave him a shaky smile, gave his arm one final pat before turning and taking several steps in the direction of the tent and the relative privacy it afford now that Han had vacated it. But Luke’s voice abruptly stopped her.

“Just know _you’re_ not the only one your fear is hurting.”

Leia’s shoulders stiffened at the direct hit. 

“And by the time you’re ready to let go of that fear, it might be too late,” he advised.

Perhaps she should have zeroed in on his warning that eventually it would be too late, but it was his first assessment — the thought of truly hurting Han — that pained Leia’s heart.

_You’re confusing desire with disdain._

The memory of what she’d said twisted in her gut. It was her own words that haunted her now.

Slowly turning back to face Luke, she tried to say something more to dismiss and deny it, but in the end, her remorseful conscience wouldn’t allow it. 

She found she was disgusted with herself. 

“I...” At a loss for words, Leia just nodded. “I know.”


	4. Chapter 4

Heading back to the sleep tent, it was no longer the graphic sexual images and sensations that bothered Leia but her out of hand reaction to them. Up until now, she’d been caught up in herself — shocked by what had happened, alarmed by it, stirred up and flustered by it; all of her attention absorbed by how it had affected _her_. For the first time, her thoughts turned to how it all must have seemed to Han, who wasn’t privy to whatever it was that had gone on inside her mind. How strange and incongruous, how bewildering and unwarranted her sudden and complete reversal in behavior must have felt to him.

She’d been monstrously unfair to Han, Leia realized now.

Everything Luke said to her had rung upsettingly true, but it was the idea of her rash self-protective actions truly hurting Han that managed to seep past her defenses. She cringed to recall the callous way she’d lashed out at him when he’d done nothing to deserve it. 

Shame and remorse were powerful motivators, and they altered her footsteps now, shifting her course from the tent over to the campfire she’d tried so hard to avoid earlier. Han was facing her as she approached his spot at the fire, but his eyes were closed as he drank from his bottle and he didn’t initially see her. She had to say his name to get his attention. 

Hearing Leia’s voice — and speaking to _him_ — Han’s eyes shot open, meeting hers in surprise. Whenever they fought there was always a relatively quick reconciliation. Their real shouting matches had gradually subsided many months ago. The occasional residual fighting between them lacked any real teeth, more friendly bickering akin to sarcastic banter than actual animosity. But after her thorough dismissal of him back in the tent, he hadn’t expected any resolution to come tonight, nor had he anticipated her to be the first to break. 

_If_ that was what she was doing. Could be she wanted to fight some more, further expound on her ‘disdain’ for him — this time in a more public arena. With that in mind, he greeted her with a cautious, “Your Worship.”

The way Han addressed her was carefully impassive, but loaded in a way someone who knew him well might notice. Leia counted herself among that limited number and still Han could be hard to read, yet she discerned a masked but palpable tinge of wounded pride that verified Luke’s statement. The confirmation made her feel all the worse.

Leia had her pride, too, but there was no doubt she was in the wrong here and her ever instinct was that of atonement. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was, that she was equally responsible for what had almost happened between them. Perhaps even more responsible. _Her_ feelings, _her_ wishes, _her_ body, _her_ hormones were running rampant tonight, wild and incontrollable. She’d sent him signals; she knew she had. It was only reasonable for Han to assume she was open to him making a move. 

And when he had, the only reason she reacted as strongly as she did was because of the unnervingly vivid images — vision? hallucination? intense fantasy? — she’d entertained of them naked together on the _Falcon_. But that wasn’t Han’s fault, it was hers. 

It was wanting him _so_ much that had sent her running, so certainly using the word ‘disdain’ had been hypocritical and completely out of line, a scant centim above cruel. She deeply regretted it. Even more, she regretted the look on his face after she’d said it. 

Leia wanted to tell him at least that much, that she’d been wrong to use such a false and vicious word against him, but there were too many people around right now — the Rogues especially, who lived off that kind of gossip fodder.

As if to underscore the point, Hobbie came walking back to the fire to reclaim his log and Wes straightaway began to tease him. “Hey, Hobs, the stories are still going on, buddy….” he warned in a mock helpful tone.

Wedge snickered before putting in, “Yeah, sure you can handle it?”

“You’re not gonna run off crying again, are you?” Wes taunted.

“Kriff off, Janson.” Hobbie flipped him his middle finger. “You know I just had to take a piss.”

“Or you were so scared you shat your pants,” Wes guffawed, “and had to hide the evidence in the woods.” 

Three years in, Leia was unfazed by — and, at the moment, uninterested in — their antics, but she saw a deeper opportunity here. “Leave him be,” she spoke up, and all eyes turned to her. “It’s Nalday, after all. During the Festival of Spirits.” She looked squarely at Han, making sure to catch his gaze. “The fear gets to everyone.”

A tacit, private disclosure was taking place between the princess and the captain, too compelling not to absorb their full attention, and they both summarily ignored the Rogue’s continued joshing. Not even Hobbie’s vehement protests of, “I _didn’t_ shit my pants! I _DIDN’T_!”, could intrude upon their moment.

Han recognized the ceasefire for what it was: not just an apology, but a significant admission that he’d been right; she _was_ afraid, and that was why she ran away. Not because she hadn’t wanted him. Not because she felt ‘disdain’ for him. Because she felt the opposite. 

He would have touched her if he was closer, reached out for her hand, but the only way to do so at their current distance — just beyond arm’s length — would be an awkward and obvious lunge. He settled for holding her eyes instead. “There’s nothin’ to be afraid of, Sweetheart.”

His tone now was soft and gentle, _achingly_ tender, the kind of tone she could so easily melt into and be swept away by all over again. “So they tell me….” she breathed on a sigh. 

Her feet were taking their own liberties, carrying her the few steps over to him before her brain caught up. But the very fact that she _was_ so quick to ignore everyone else around the fire — truthfully, on the entire planet — gave her pause and she stopped short of joining him, hovering awkwardly at the edge of his log. “Still, I…It’s better if I say goodnight,” she decided. 

“What if we just sat here by the fire?” Han swiftly suggested, not at all ready to put a cap on what he saw as unmistakable progress between them. 

When Leia didn’t immediately refuse but wordlessly vacillated, he was further encouraged. 

“‘S nice and warm,” he referenced in solution to her earlier objection that she’d been cold, on the off-chance there’d been any truth to it. “And we could roast sweetmallows…look up at the stars…” He lowered his voice for her ears only. “…try to convince Janson the mist rising off the lake over there is the ghost of that falumpaset he blasted today.” 

The beasts of burden were revered by the Naldayians. It was considered a bad omen to harm one, like a black tooka crossing your path or walking under a ladder. His killshot had been accidental, the result of a badly aimed blaster while fleeing the village, but the potentially negative portent obviously troubled Janson, who could kill men without batting an eye but hadn’t stopped talking about the poor falumpaset all day.

“That _does_ sound like more fun than sleeping,” Leia admitted around a blossoming smile, which he readily returned. “Han, I—” She’d meant to let it go, but now that they were close and the risk of being overheard was diminished she couldn’t contain the urge to apologize. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve the way I acted. You did nothing wrong. It was all _me_. I…” 

She shook her head, finding no explanation sufficient other than the truth — which was something she’d only begun to face herself and was nowhere near ready to discuss.

Han perceived her ongoing struggle, saw the tension and guilt in her eyes, and suspected it was more than just the hurtful words she’d said but the very act of almost kissing him that left her so ashamed. He wished to all the gods she’d let that go; let herself acknowledge she was a woman with her own needs and emotions, not just a cog of the Rebellion; that it was not only okay but right and _good_ to feel things. “You didn’t do anything wrong either, Leia.”

She wished that were true but knew it wasn’t. Now when she’d evidently descended so low as to have explicit sexual fantasies of him, not just in the midst of a life-or-death Alliance mission but while he was sitting right there in front of her — and then harshly lash out at him because of it. “You don’t know what I did,” Leia replied quietly, no longer meeting his eye.

That statement intrigued him, though he seriously doubted she’d done anything _ever_ to garner the self-reproach dripping from her tone. “‘S that so? Knew it was a real good dream I was havin’ last night, but…maybe it wasn’t a dream? Did you _really_ climb into my bedroll with me?” That made her grin and give a soundless laugh, which had been his goal. “Nah.” Han shook his head, smiling along with her. “If it was real, I would’ve woken up for that, no doubt about it.”

He was letting her off the hook, and Leia would take it. But as she more fully processed what he’d just said, the broader implication occurred to her: maybe she wasn’t the only one having these vivid fantasies. Maybe she wasn’t even alone in tonight’s. Back in the tent, had Han been imagining them together that way, too? Her smile faded into a heated intensity as she held his eye. “ _Do_ you dream about me?”

Before Han could answer, Leia’s continued loitering at the edge of their fire circle without taking a seat caught Wedge’s curiosity and, without meaning to, he put her on the spot by asking, “You turning in, Princess?”

Leia looked from Han to Wedge, and answered with a shake of her head. “No.” Finding Han’s gaze again, she did her best to impart an implicit and unmistakable meaning: a person could only run so far; right now, she was standing still. “I think I’ll stick around…” Her eyes glimmered as she recited his words back to him. “…See what happens.”

Han gave her his trademark half-smirk, delight radiating through his features. “Well, c’mere then.” He patted the log beside him, albeit at a more discreet distance from where his own thigh rested, from how they were pressed together in the tent. “I’ve got a mallow with your name on it.” Grabbing up the roasting stick, he fished a sweetmallow from the bag and held it up to her. “See, says ‘Her Highnessness’ right there.”

She rolled her eyes on a peal of soft laughter. “Shut up and hand me the stick,” she said, wresting it away from Han as she plunked down next to him.

“Mmm, I like it when you get rough,” he growled, deep and low.

“Yeah? Then you’ll love this.” 

She nudged her shoulder into his with playful aggression, but he remained upright on the log. In fact, he gave a little grunt of feigned enjoyment. “Ooooh, more, more. Hurt me, baby.”

Leia gently elbowed him, laughing harder now. “You’re an idiot. Stop, or I’ll hurt you for real — and you know I can.”

“Oh really?” Han’s eyebrows shot up in roguish challenge. “Who beat who last blaster certification?”

“The final target shouldn’t have counted,” she argued while her smile grew brighter still. “It was too high. You were closer to it. That was cheating.”

“Cheating?” he chuckled as he speared the mallow onto the end of the stick for her. “Sweetheart, that was _growing_. Not my fault you didn’t do any.”

Their conversation carried over to Luke as he drew near to the fire, and he smiled at their teasing banter. Fear hadn’t won tonight.


End file.
